


Dustheart

by wishuponawitchystar



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe, Childhood Friends, F/F, Family, Family Secrets, Female Relationships, Firsts, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Humor, Ilvermorny, LGBTQ Character, LGBTQ Character of Color, LGBTQ Themes, Love, Memory Related, Multi, Mythical Beings & Creatures, Original Character(s), Other, Plot, Polyamory, Romance, Secrets, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-09
Updated: 2019-05-09
Packaged: 2020-02-27 19:57:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,296
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18746023
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wishuponawitchystar/pseuds/wishuponawitchystar
Summary: Ilvermorny graduate Sanwyn Arcana has no idea who she is, nor does she recognize the two beautiful strangers at her side when she wakes in an unfamiliar forest.The three witches have been living happily together in the small US wizarding town of Crowley. But something or someone has shattered that happiness, and may next be coming for their lives…(New story, new setting, new characters—all within the same magical world…)





	Dustheart

C H A P T E R   O N E 

 

It was after several seconds of wondering why my bed was so hard that I felt the hand cup my cheek. A hand soft enough to make up for my discomfort.

The scents of cinnamon and vanilla filled my nose, alongside a far more stubborn earthy smell.

I blinked at eyes the color of bellflowers. The girl’s face—framed by short little waves in that exact hue—was inches away. Her wide silver sleeves slid down to her elbows as she gripped my arms urgently.

She eased me up from my supine position to my feet. I looked around, disconcerted.

We were standing in the middle of a forest. My “bed” had merely been grass, dirt, and twigs.

What was I doing, lying on the ground like that? And why was it so quiet? A forest wasn’t meant to be so still.

“Are you hurt?” asked the stranger, moving closer.

I saw the other girl, then, over her shoulder, staring at me in terror. Her features were sharper, and the same gentle breeze I felt rustled her smooth, long dark hair.

My initial thought was that they were both very pretty.

“I need to know if you’re okay,” said the one who still held my arms. “Talk to me.”

I looked down at myself. Delicate purple robes—nothing unusual there, though they could do with a wash. I wasn’t in any pain…

“I think I’m all right, thanks.” But my confusion only grew. “Can you tell me where I am? And…who you are? Maybe, also…why my name isn’t coming to me?”

They froze. I couldn’t decide which one seemed more stunned—or more devastated. What had they realized that I hadn’t?

For an endless moment, nobody spoke. The situation had clearly been mistaken for a pebble to the head rather than the boulder it was in reality. 

The hair and eyes of the girl in front of me had darkened from purple-blue to black. “We’re in…Crowley,” she said. “It’s an American wizarding town… Your name is Sanwyn—Sanwyn Arcana?” The information was provided haltingly, perhaps in the hope that I might interrupt with sudden recognition. When I failed to react, however, she grimly straightened her spine. “I’m Iana…and that’s—Sunny! Sunny, come back!”

But Sunny, her black robes flying, had already bolted for the trees and out of sight.

Iana slowly sank down onto the grass, lips pursed against what might have been a scream.

Unsure what to do, I flicked a thick curl off my forehead—and noticed a tear in my sleeve.

Then, in an instinctive move, I pointed my wand at it. And the tear…mended instantly.

I gasped. My wand! I’d snatched it from a pocket without thinking. Thirteen inches at least, well-polished, with a translucent handle…

“I’m a witch,” I muttered to myself.

“Yes,” Iana said firmly. “You are.”

As if to punctuate this, a grayish-silver form glided through the distant gloom.

A ghost.

“Will, um, Sunny be okay?” I asked worriedly. What else was out there?

Iana never answered.

It took a good part of ten minutes to reach the edge of the woods. I maintained a tight grip on my wand and matched Iana’s hurried pace. Although we walked side by side, there was no doubt I was being led. _Possibly to your death_ , I thought. She seemed to be taking a well-known—and well-worn—path.

“That’s a cool color,” I said, gesturing at Iana. The purple-blue had made a triumphant return, twice as vivid as before. Was she recovering from the shock?

Was I?

“Thank you,” Iana said stiffly.

“Metamorphmagus?”

She nodded. 

“Pretty amazing.” 

She looked away. 

“Hey, Iana…?” But I hesitated. 

“Yes?” she said.

“How old am I?”

“You’re nineteen,” said Iana flatly. “We met during our first year at Ilvermorny. We’ve lived together since we graduated.”

“All—all three of us?” I stammered.

“Yes.”

I absorbed this as Iana stopped to free ensnared tangles of white, silver, and gold unicorn hair, storing them in a velvet pouch. The prospect of a unicorn sighting excited me, but they were nowhere to be seen.

Iana and I emerged from the forest to a winding road dotted by houses of every shape, size, and shade. Witches and wizards headed in different directions, dressed in traveling cloaks, speaking various languages, flourishing wands, Apparating and Disapparating. Owls made occasional flybys—letters and packages in beaks or tied to legs.

My gaze drank everything in with helpless awe. The bleeding sunset would have surely put any other street in a strange light.

I tilted my head back, eyelids lowering at the pleasure of the warmth on my skin. “Is it spring?”

Iana was silent. Meeting her stare, I flinched at its intensity.

“Autumn soon,” she murmured.

“I—”

A small, giggling girl ran past us, chased by a panting woman. 

“Give Mommy’s wand back, Leila! It’s not a toy!”

The tip of the wand Leila held behind her back was vomiting a massive stream of colors. Had I witnessed it from afar, I would’ve been convinced there was a rainbow shooting out of the child’s rear end, lighting a trail for her exasperated mother.

“Um…should we help…?” I asked awkwardly.

“No need,” said Iana.

She was right. A quick young wizard disarmed Leila just as she joined several friends, who had gathered in a circle to screech happily at something that smoked and popped.

Over the commotion, however, the faint echoes of a Howler could still be heard. I smiled—not that Howlers were anything to smile about. But the magic…the magic, I knew. It was solid ground. Even…a foundation.

My smile became a grin of relief.

A group of middle-aged witches chattered nearby.

“Last night, I dreamed I married a winged horse, and he flew off in a huff whenever we fought.”

“The most important question is: Did he fly back to you with chocolate?”

They shrieked with laughter.

“How was your vacation, Marie?”

“Yes, oh, how was it?”

“All right, I guess. I did enjoy Diagon Alley, some great shops there—well worth the trip! Disappointed I didn’t make it to Hogsmeade, though.”

“Next year!”

The abandoned brick building I’d leaned on to listen had two large posters decorating its side.

The first was of a peaceful-looking blonde woman flashing a reassuring smile, the MACUSA seal serving as her background. Words were emblazoned on the lower half. 

> _President Wyle: Dedicated to protecting wizarding families._

President Wyle had glimmering blue eyes and wore her hair in a classic bun. Glossy robes suggested wealth, as did the large stone on her ring finger. Lack of makeup gave her a youthful, non-threatening visage. Unsure if the image suited its message, I wondered if the serenity Wyle exuded had made the climb to her position harder, or easier. Had her looks helped or hindered? Had she been underestimated? Or trusted to be calm and cool under pressure?

The second was a wanted poster of a woman who could not have been more different from Wyle. Eyes lined in black, an almost sickly glow to her olive skin, teeth white but oddly sharp, she was a twisted beauty—with a bottomless gaze capable of swallowing any soul that dared to look within. “ _ZIZA_ ,” the poster called her.

> _WANTED_
> 
> _REWARD:_
> 
> _D100000 (One hundred thousand Dragots)_

As I watched, a sixth zero materialized, making the total: _D1000000_. One million Dragots.

I shivered. What could possibly warrant this? Forget MACUSA, the entire wizarding nation—if not the world—would be after her. How could this witch—Ziza—stand a chance?

“San? Come on,” called Iana, having walked ahead. She waited for me under an open second-floor window. “We’ve got to get home.”

As I caught up, a voice shouted from above, “Son of a bludger! Why is my owl green?!”

An owl’s hoot followed—was I imagining the indignation in the sound?

“Sorry!” a second voice yelped.

Many offered greetings when they spotted us, but Iana didn’t linger. She marched toward a white cottage with a wreath on its pale blue door. Nearing it, I realized the wreath was in fact entirely composed of opalescent butterflies.

“Sunny conjured them,” said Iana, her expression blank. “They come and go.”

Their wings fluttered at our entry, creating a shimmer effect, but the butterflies were otherwise undisturbed. Instead, their small response felt like a hello. A welcome. I presumed, a welcome back.

I inhaled and exhaled steadily against the urge to hold my breath as the door swung open.

I stepped over the threshold. A gentle ringing echoed through—I suspected—the entire house.

“Just a chime,” Iana said indifferently.

I squinted. These “chimes” seemed to be no more than tiny airborne gold specks, gently spread out across the area.

I would have been happy to see the enormous fireplace with or without a head in it, but it contained neither head nor flames. In the center of the mantlepiece was a jar that contained glittering powder.

So the fireplace was connected to the Floo Network—that was useful information. Although, where would I go? Apparating to the first place that came to mind didn’t seem wise either—as nothing came to mind at all. I made a mental note to at least test out Apparition later.

The life-size portrait above the fireplace—of a nude girl lounging on her belly in an unmade but luxurious bed—was the next thing to hit my unprepared eyes. Interesting placement, for a portrait. Her head turned, the golden length of her hair shifting off her back to pool onto her pillow.

I would have been very surprised if she was seventeen.

“Hmm, that expression,” the girl said lazily. “ _Déjà vu_.”

Shifting my focus to the painting of a levitating broomstick directly beside hers, I cleared my throat. “You know, there’s a piece of clothing right there on your carpet.”

Both works were shockingly lifelike—the broom painting could have been mistaken for a window to convenient transportation, and peering at the portrait gave me the icky sense of being a voyeur.

The girl rose onto her elbows to check her lower half. “No, there isn’t.”

I sent Iana a wide-eyed glance.

“This is Amaranthia,” sighed Iana. “She was the previous owner here.”

Amaranthia frowned at the explanation, seeming not to understand why it would be necessary. “What happened?”

It was a good question.

“San’s been attacked,” said Iana. To me, she said,“You’ve lost your memory but not, I think, your magical knowledge or ability.”

Of course. A Memory Charm. Why hadn’t I reached that very obvious conclusion?

One this powerful would have done permanent damage. I should have been enraged, but I couldn’t find the will to get worked up.

“Do you know?” I asked Iana. “Who attacked me?”

“I didn’t see them.” 

I sensed she was choosing her words carefully. “What if they come back?”

Eyes downcast, Iana shook her head. “They...already did what they meant to do.”

Unperturbed by this news, Amaranthia delivered her own. “Ah, well. The cat pounced off—probably with Sunora by now. Best leave her be for a bit.”

Iana’s nod was reluctant.

I frowned. “Sunora? Oh—Sunny?”

Amaranthia clicked her tongue. “The poor thing…”

Not that I minded her sympathy going elsewhere, but did she really feel worse for Sunny, whose memory was untouched?

I might have glared at the portrait if my hungry gaze wasn’t busy devouring every visible surface.

Overstuffed bookshelves consumed an admirable amount of space. Among  the books were photographs, fist-sized clear orbs, and a heart-shaped Snitch hovering in place within its glass container. A large desk, throne-like chair before it, bore scattered items: corked ink bottles, feather quills, new parchment, a pile of tomes, fat flowers climbing from crystal vases, and a radio—its volume turned down. Two armchairs. Plump pink sofa—an open magazine curled over its arm, a ball of white fluff between the cushions. A thin rectangular table held teacups, newspapers, and more. 

A turn to the right from the fireplace was the doorway to the kitchen, which revealed dishes washing themselves over the sink. On the bit of counter I could see was a basket of shiny bread rolls and a glass cabinet stocked with bottles of butterbeer, pumpkin juice, fire whiskey, wine, and various sodas.

I laughed. I lived here? It was perfect!

A trill made me jump.

Opposite a narrow door that I assumed led to a broom closet were a pair of lumps, their wooden perch partially hidden by the bookshelves.

Bopping heads. One small, the other adorably fat. A western screech owl and a great gray. But the little one… 

“His eyes…” I whispered, moving closer. 

They were magnificent: dark blue globes speckled with constellations. Yet my heart was overwhelmed by sadness.

“Deus is blind,” explained Iana. “He can’t do the things Vil does, like deliver mail or hunt, but he’s no less important to us. Deus is fed by hand each day and enjoys pats as well as praise. Vil mainly prefers special treats.”

And just like that, my joy was restored. “He sounds absolutely glorious. And Vil is the one that looks like a majestic sphere of feathers?”

Vil hooted proudly in confirmation.

Iana smiled. “Vil prefers to mind his own business—doesn’t like getting mixed up in our nonsense. But Deus is content to eavesdrop on us all with his excellent hearing—hopefully he doesn’t judge us too harshly.” No response came from the judge in question. “He does have some of his vision—he’s able to capture movement to some degree—but if he can tell us apart, it’ll be by our voices, which he’s thankfully comforted by.”

“Fitting name you have, little god,” I said to Deus. He swiveled his head toward me, showing off his tiny ear tufts, and trilled merrily.

“You gave it to him. Brought him home after he hit a tree on the forest edge.”

Startled by her sudden hoarseness, I glanced at Iana, but was met with her back.

“I’ll—I’ll get you something to drink,” she said, hurrying to the kitchen.

Amaranthia stretched and yawned. “All right there?”

“Fine,” I said.

“Hmm…”

“Even if I’m not—I’ve just had most of my memory stolen away; I can’t afford to be vulnerable right now.”

“You know, portraits are vulnerable. But somehow we go on. I’m sure you in particular would’ve removed me if it wasn’t impossible to do so. I could’ve been thrown outside—exposed to the elements—or if no one had bought my house, abandoned in a dusty, decaying environment with nobody to talk to but myself—” Amaranthia tumbled dramatically onto her back, arranging her hair so that it covered much of her front (but not before I got an eyeful). “You’ve kept your cool so far, but if you ever feel the need to take your frustration out on surrounding objects…spare this one, would you?”

I snorted. “Thanks for your concern.”

“One must always be concerned with oneself, and all those who may impact one’s safety.”

If my current state was anything to go by, I hadn’t gotten the memo. 

“Yeah…” It was time to change the subject. “So we have a cat?”

“Harriet prefers to be referred to as ‘the cat’—she believes she’s the only cat that ever was…and refuses to acknowledge her fellow felines.”

“And Sunny—Sunora?”

“The cat’s favorite—and you’re either her favorite or nothing. I hear she was with you three at Ilvermorny…”

I wished I could recall attending. “Interesting.”

“Not particularly,” Amaranthia said. “What are you doing?”

I was revolving on the spot, considering my options.

“Let’s see what I can do,” I said, stiffening with nerves.

First, I conjured a small mirror. It showed me nothing I recognized: riotous brown curls flowing out from under a crooked pointed hat, amber-colored eyes, a tentative splatter of freckles...

At least that much was confirmed. Plus, I was a brunette—that worked for me.

Tossing the hat, I pointed my wand at a collection of blue rosebuds, which flew into the air, then back down onto the rectangular table. I also summoned a quill, cleared away a cobweb, made a teacup grow dancing legs, and transfigured a sofa cushion into a goblet. Each attempt was accomplished with ease, relaxing my shoulders…until the Patronus. Until my utter failure to produce the charm.  

Facing a Dementor without a Patronus was…unthinkable. But what had I expected? I hadn’t a clue what my happiest memory was. A town and home that didn’t even feel like my own could never be enough—no matter how lovely they were. 

“ _Most_ of your magical ability remains intact, anyway…” Amaranthia said loftily.

I scowled at her. “Just how old were you at the time of your portrait? Twelve?”

“Thirty-four.”

“What!”

“I often got that, yes—and get it still.” She smirked. “Don’t mind me, ogle on.”

“Sorry,” I said half-heartedly. But ogle I did…not that it made me feel better.

From the sofa, I grabbed the first thing I could reach. It was a newspaper—the nation’s most reliable source, according to itself.

“ _The Honest Quill_ ,” I read aloud.

The front page highlighted Deondra Walker, a rising star in the MACUSA from a highly-regarded family within the wizarding community—and top aurors, siblings Jihee and Jihun Park, the adult children of Yuna Park, Director of Magical Security. But these articles were abruptly replaced by breaking news—and the same picture from the wanted poster.

> _“ZIZA CHARGED AND AT LARGE! President Wyle calling for…”_

I set the newspaper aside. A full-page ad—evidently ripped out of a magazine—was my next distraction. It starred a boy unwrapping a chocolate egg, which split in half to release a chocolate bird. The bird flew in circles until the boy stuck out his tongue for it to use as a kind of runway, and it promptly landed in his beaming mouth. 

“ _INTERATIVE! SAFE! FUN!_ ” flashed in vivid green and pink.

A box of these, modeled after a birdhouse, was on the table. The eggs could be seen through the little windows, wiggling or developing bumps as though pecked from the inside. One continued to wiggle after the others stopped, and I wondered what would happen if an engorgement charm was used on them. 

As I rested my elbow on the sofa arm, I saw that what I’d mistaken for a magazine was a book with stunning art and bits of text that told a story. A comic. The plot seemed to follow the adventures of a giantess/witch couple. How intriguing…

The white-fluff ball between the cushions had been dislodged by my movements. I stared as it shifted about until a pink nose hit the air.

A baby bunny. How many pets did we have? 

“Sorry, sweetie, I thought you were a tiny fuzzy pillow.” Or a chew toy. “Wouldn’t have disturbed you otherwise. Who left you on the sofa? You don’t want to get sat on, do you?” 

We played for a while. I learned the bunny was enamored with blue roses, and the buds left on the table were likely for her.

I soon found myself hypnotized by the broom painting again—or perhaps just by the idea of flying off. The broom had climbed higher, above a sheet of puffy white clouds in a night sky.

But Amaranthia wasn’t to be ignored. “I put that there in case I felt like a change of scenery,” she said. “This way, I can hop right onto it. I was an excellent flier, you know.”

I was lucky _I_ hadn’t tried hopping onto it.

It took Iana too long to return. When she finally did, holding a tall glass of pumpkin juice, it was to find my wand aimed steadily at her.

The way she froze up, I would’ve gotten the same result out of the Full-Body Bind. 

“You could have conjured that,” I accused.

Indignant, Iana shouted, “I needed a moment!” But after several quick breaths, she regained her composure, disappointment overtaking the anger. “Take another look at the photographs—you haven’t, have you?”

I lowered my wand.

The proof was all around us—on the shelves, the walls, separate stands—and I was embarrassed to realize that, in my rapture at discovering what I considered to be the perfect wizarding home, I had dismissed dozens of photographs…most of which included me (apparently, Iana, Sunny, and I had been inseparable).

We were everywhere.

Minuscule and wearing identical, near-painful expressions of excitement during what must have been our first year of school.

Playing Quidditch.

Flanking a pink-cheeked (and possibly pregnant with a giant) bride, our gowns sparkling. 

Laughing, caught in their embrace, my wand raised toward the ceiling, confetti raining down on us.

Wearing pointed hats, grinning, cheek to cheek, our faces upturned in an aerial shot.

Grinning cheek to cheek, our faces upturned in an aerial shot.

I gave the last a poke, watching as our photographic selves hid under ourpointed hats, which shook as we giggled.

Each photograph was uniquely framed.

“I’m sorry,” I said, turning away from them.

“Here,” said Iana, handing me the pumpkin juice. Her hair and eyes had gone black again, though she didn’t acknowledge this—meaning I couldn’t either. “Let’s go into the kitchen.”

The drink was just what I needed, and I was glad to see the glass refilling itself after I drained it.

Iana had laid out a feast—the kitchen table had to be groaning. It smelled incredible; the food (including those bread rolls I’d glimpsed) still steamed. Mountains of burgers and chicken wings, several casseroles, enough ramen for half a dozen people, a giant dumpling larger than my head, and a couple of colorful dishes I couldn’t accurately name but identified as Latin American. I was afraid to ask, fearing my ignorance would upset her further—feeling certain I wouldn’t have needed to ask before.

“I was just about to start cooking when Sunny rushed in to tell me you were in danger…but by the time we got to you, it was too late.” 

Trying not to wince at Iana’s deadened tone, I looked from the food to her. I wished I was hungry enough to eat everything. “Are you expecting guests?” Perhaps then I wouldn’t feel so guilty about having threatened her after she had done all of this.

Iana shook her head, shrugging. “I got carried away.”

Curious to know what else happened when she “got carried away,” I did my best to taste a bit of everything, while Iana stuck to fire whiskey.

“You have a beautiful home.” It was a belated comment that, in hindsight, might’ve been better left unsaid.

“We did.” Iana’s glass, too, refilled itself.

As I pulled apart a roll and searched for a response that wouldn’t sound like an apology, a photo on the windowsill caught my eye. The sharp-featured woman blinked at me.

“Hey, she’s familiar!” I cried, pointing.

“That’s because,” said Iana wearily, “she was Sunny’s grandmother.”

I deflated. “Oh.”

They did have a strong resemblance.

“Mingzhu Lin was one of Ilvermorny’s most celebrated headmistresses. She died before Sunny was born,” Iana added, sounding inexplicably bitter. 

The feast was soon replaced with dessert. Large cakes, cupcakes, tarts, pies, puddings, ice cream, flan, egg tarts, towers of thick chocolate blocks, and fresh fruit.

After a few more bites on my end, Iana and I stared at each other across the cleared table.

“Thank you for my first meal, so to speak,” I said.

Iana tilted her head a little. “How was it?”

“Couldn’t have dreamed up a complaint for my life.”

She aimed a small smile at her folded hands. 

“So, Iana…?” I prompted her.

“Iana Owenna Tejada.”

“Iana Owenna Tejada, what do you do?” 

“I work for Naisha Anand, Crowley’s potioneer—though Naisha would say ‘with’ her—and Sunny works at a Snidget sanctuary.”

Potion-making was a horrid, unforgiving business, with the slimy and the gooey and the smelly and the formerly crawly. I admired Iana’s willingness to tackle it. Protecting Snidgets also sounded worthwhile…

“And me? What do I do?” I asked. “How do I contribute?” 

“You make sure everything is in order here.”

“Here…?”

“In Crowley, in general. We all share the housework. You help out around town if asked or when it’s needed. We rely on each other.”

I found it a bit troubling that I didn’t seem to have a duty other than occupying the house and assisting neighbors in everyday things.

“What is it?” asked Iana, black eyes narrowing.

“Well…I sound kind of…useless.”

At this, Iana studied her glass. “Did you see the chocolate eggs?” She nodded toward the wall separating the kitchen from the living room.

“They had a great ad,” I said. I was sure I’d seen more thrilling sweets, though.

“It was your idea,” Iana said, dumbfounding me. “We get them for free. Singwing chocolate is the richest you’ll ever taste. Two of Myra Singwing’s daughters are neighbors of ours. They were down about not having any new hit products, and you gave them the idea that inspired countless more—revitalized the company. You even receive a percent of the profits. They’re always coming around to ask you to try their newest creation.”

I thought for a minute. “Do they have a white chocolate version of those eggs?”

Iana laughed. “You ate all the ones we had, but they’ll send more. There are tons of different flavors and versions now that they’ve become so popular.”

That was kind of nice.

But Iana wasn’t finished. “Last year, you tracked down a witch who went missing. Her family left Crowley, but they still send gifts on holidays and birthdays.”

That...was a big jump from chocolate. “The woman—she’s okay?”

“She’s doing great.”

“So I really lived here with you. Wow.”

Iana crossed her arms, glaring at me. “You live here, and you’re not going anywhere.”

“A beautiful girl threatening to hold me hostage? I should brag to my parents…where do they live, anyway?” I was less casual about slipping that in than I would’ve liked. “It’s okay,” I said hurriedly, when Iana looked so crestfallen that I thought she might cry.“If they’re dead or something, well, I get to not remember that, so no need for details yet.” I’d added “yet” for a reason, though—I wasn’t going to let this go.

But Iana said sadly, “I don’t know. You didn’t want us to know...you refused to discuss it.”

It was disturbing to be dependent on other people for information about your own life. Iana—and likely Sunny—knew far more than I did. And if I had kept things from them, how would I ever regain those secrets? Were I to seek them out myself, how would I be sure I wasn’t being manipulated—around and away from the truth?

And if I hadn’t trusted them before…

“Um—could you share anything else about me?” I asked distractedly as Iana’s expression became concerned. 

“You had a pen pal from the Philippines,” she said. “That just occurred to me. The two of you decided to never meet but always write, no matter what. It started as part of a school program. No one else kept up with it, but of course you did…”

“When’d we stop?”

“Should be getting a letter from her next month. She’s actually in Singapore right now, you told me…”

Uncomfortable for some reason, I shifted the conversation to magic.

“Any problems?” asked Iana.

I saved my humiliation and horror about the failed Patronus for another time—optimistically, never—saying nothing to confirm or deny.

“I assume not,” Iana said. “As you saw with the Mending Charm, your wand has always been an extension of yourself, more threaded to your instincts than to your thoughts. But something you should be aware of is that you’re ambidextrous—”

A series of rapid _BANG_ s erupted outside. The curtained windows revealed no disturbance.

“Just our neighbors,” Iana said dismissively. However, she’d jerked in her seat, and her wand had slid into her hand. It disappeared back into her sleeve before I could get a better look, but I did notice that it was much shorter and fiercer in appearance than mine. Iana got to her feet. “It’s late. I’m going to go find Sunny and bring her home.”

However, Iana surprised me by returning as quickly as she went—with a present. Flat and square, the reflective wrapping paper glinting.

“You wrapped this yourself, by hand, for Sunny. It’s a Guzman piece. Expensive, but we have the Dragots…” Iana sighed. “You were so excited when it was delivered yesterday.”

I gave it a slight squeeze. Whatever was in there—Iana remained tight-lipped—it was soft.

“Please give it to Sunny once she returns,” Iana said.

“What’s the occasion?”

“The anniversary of the day you met her.”

At the door, she paused. “Don’t be too nice to her, okay? It’ll be…overwhelming for her. Some distance might help.”

“After I give her the present, should I drop something on the floor and tell her to pick it up?” I joked, wanting to lighten the moment.

“No, that might excite her,” Iana said seriously.

“Sorry?”

“It could give her the wrong idea. Like you’re playing a game, you know.”

I frowned. “Did—do I play a lot of games?” 

“When you’re in the mood.” 

“So it wouldn’t be weird for me to be mean to her?” I pressed, trying to understand. Iana’s face gave nothing away.

“Really, truly mean? You’d never pull it off. With others, if necessary, yes—but not Sunny.” Iana shrugged. “When I give up, you…stay.”

But what did that mean? “Give up?”

“Although I love her to pieces, she can be difficult.”

“I don’t think I’m the same,” I said. “I feel like giving up already.”

“Well, don’t,” Iana said simply.

She left me among the chimes, some floating candles and the fireplace lit.

Amaranthia dozed, the radio’s murmur my only company. 

I fell asleep in an armchair, the present in my lap, staring at the broom painting. I stared at it so long, the broom zoomed out of its frame and knocked me in the stomach.

A black, quaffle-sized cat had pounced onto me, wrenching me out of the dream. At least, I thought it was a cat—the creature had large green eyes and cat-like ears, but no visible nose or mouth…until it stuck its tongue out to lick what I assumed was its nose.

So this pointy-eared fur cloud was Harriet.

As I straightened, rubbing my stomach, Sunny collapsed into the other armchair. It seemed she had returned on her own. 

_“President Wyle today announced…”_

I waved my wand at the radio and the sound lowered to a barely perceptible buzz.

I cleared my throat. “Sunny? This is for you…” I was anxious to see what it was myself.

Sunny unwrapped with trembling fingers…what turned out to be a black traveling cloak. I was stumped—why would I have been looking forward to giving her a simple cloak?

Sunny quickly pulled it on. She didn’t seem eager to talk, and I wasn’t eager to push her.

Amaranthia sighed exaggeratedly, opening the eye that wasn’t buried in her pillow. “You’ll have to go outside if you wish to see the full effect.”

What? Would she levitate or something?

Sunny and I ran into the night, leaving the door open behind us.

“Look!” I gasped. “Shooting stars! Oh—it’s reflecting the sky! It’s like...like you’re made of them. It really suits you. Would be pretty cool on a broom…”

Sunny’s eyes also mirrored the stars as she raised her sleeves to study them. Her hands went to her heart and stayed there. Tears slid down her cheeks as she gazed up at the very sky she was wearing.

Was that emotion for the last gift from the Sanwyn she knew? Or was it more complicated?

“I—um—would you like a hug?” I said, even though it went against Iana’s advice.

I managed to spread my arms just in time to catch her as she flung herself at me. Eventually, she stopped trembling.

We decided to wait inside for Iana. Sunny sat in the armchair again, hugging herself—hugging the cloak.

A piece of parchment, folded into an airplane shape, floated in through one of the windows on either side of the door. It stopped over Sunny’s head, going point-down to tap her hair.

“What…” I began. 

But Sunny merely tucked it away without glancing at it.

Harriet swiped at a chime with a grubby sort of look, giving me an idea.

The idea was to close the tiny instrument within Sunny’s fist. It started to hum, and as long as it was in her grasp, the others echoed its gentle song. Taking another singing chime between two fingers, I strung it to Vil’s leg, instructing him to deliver it to Iana. Vil departed through an open skylight I hadn’t previously noticed.

Iana returned minutes later, chime in hand. Curious, I asked her about the odd parchment that flew in.

“Must be someone from town,” she sighed. “It’s a messaging system we have in Crowley that a No-Maj-born thought of…”

It took a patient effort on Iana’s part to convince Sunny to take off the cloak. Iana wasn’t surprised to learn how it worked. 

“You called it a practical gift—a ‘cloaking device,’” said Iana, yawning. “I called you a secret softie.”

It was long past time to turn in.

Beside the kitchen, a wide hallway presented several doors.

The sole bedroom had only one (enormous) bed, which Iana told me we shared. She and Sunny watched me take in the place where I’d been sleeping since we were seventeen.

The photographs here were larger and more intimate. Sunny in a night slip, peering through a window at a calm ocean that seemed just beyond the wall. Me, jumping from a flying motorcycle onto a broom as it sped by, disappearing from the photo and trusting Iana to handle the bike—which she did expertly. My eyes stopped at a few discolored places on the wall, places that seemed recently bare, and I suspected—without voicing the suspicion—that a photo or two had been hastily removed.

There was a full-length mirror.

Was that tall, voluptuous woman really me?

“Well, hello there,” the mirror said in its seductive, feminine rasp.

It made me laugh when there wasn’t much else to laugh about.

And then I saw my leg protruding from the side slit in my robes. 

Silvery. Stopping just above the knee like a single stocking. Perfectly matching my other leg.

A gleaming magical prosthetic.

“How?” I said dully. “When?”

“When you were very young,” said Iana softly. “For as long as we’ve known you. It would have been before Ilvermorny. Maybe years before.”

The ‘how’ was not answered.

“But it is—functional?” I said. 

“It’s never given you trouble,” Iana said.

The room no longer interested me, but as I didn’t plan to enter it again, I thought I might as well get a good look.

In the closet were cloaks, dress robes, No-Maj clothing, shoes, and a plain backpack that Iana explained contained our old school trunks, still not unpacked. The backpack had been used in the past as part of a convincing No-Maj disguise while traveling.

Iana gestured at a closed door, remarking, “We keep the Pensieve there.” 

But I hardly heard her. At some point Iana had changed into a tight, silky dressing gown that emphasized the curves and plateaus of her body. Sunny, near the bed, was willowy in arevealing, sheer design.

I glanced away. “Could I sleep on the sofa? This is a private space. One that I don’t feel…welcomes me.”

Iana laughed mirthlessly. “How strange this must be for you. Of course you can. But it’s always open to you. All of it—everything.”

We said goodnight, and soon I was pacing back and forth across the fireplace. Just how many times had I been attacked in the life I couldn’t remember?

I blinked down in surprise to see my wand gripped in my numb hand, spitting red and gold sparks. I put it down, though not out of reach.

“Good call,” said Amaranthia. “It’s best not to arm yourself in moments like these. Your anger, while understandable, may lead to something not easily reversed.”

“Thanks,” I said ungratefully, using the folded blankets and clothes Iana and Sunny had given me as an excuse to turn my back on her.

I settled in, prepared for a long night…

Someone was crying in the dark. Bleary-eyed, I followed the sound, initially unsure of what I was hearing, but the closer I got, the more obvious it was. 

The bedroom door was open. 

Iana held Sunny as they both cried, sitting in bed with their heads bowed, the cat curled on a freed pillow behind them. 

Only Iana could be heard—Sunny’s weeping silent—and I gave them the privacy they deserved. 

I was awakened twice more.

A voice shouted, “Don’t bring that winged rat back here until he looks properly miserable!” Eyes stubbornly closed, I pointed my wand—kept under my pillow—in the direction of the windows and turned over after they slammed shut. But then I seemed to hit something.

It was Sunny, her body somehow squeezed between me and the backrest, a quaffle-sized black cloud purring on her head. Iana half-sat, half-lied on the floor, snoring lightly.

Not ready to deal with the scene, yet completely at ease for the first time, I went back to sleep.

The second disruption was an odd weight on my eyelid. When my fingers attempted to find what was on my face, a butterfly took flight.

I jumped at the sight of two more butterflies fluttering on Sunny’s lashes as she blinked.

We stared at each other.

We had switched places somehow so that I was against the back of the sofa, and she was in danger of rolling off the edge. To prevent a fall, I gripped her shoulders.

But recalling Iana’s request, I whispered, “Don’t do this again, Sunny, okay?”

After a glum nod, she escaped to the bedroom. Hopefully to change rather than to cry again, or I would break and beg for forgiveness.

I looked down. Iana’s spot was empty.

The sheet of clouds in the broom painting had turned fiery, night becoming day. Did it change according to the time—even the weather?

Furious whispering reached my ears. 

“Let them get rid of each other…it’s not for us to handle. She’s all that matters. We’re all that matters.”

I stiffened, but didn’t look toward the hallway. What was Iana talking about?

One thing was certain: they both knew more than they were saying.

Over breakfast, as I persuaded Sunny to eat, she accidentally knocked over a pitcher of butterbeer. 

Sunny let out a string of hisses. 

I stared at her. “I’m very sure you just cursed.” Pausing to replay the sounds in my head, I said suddenly, “Snake language. You’re a Parselmouth.”

Sunny had refused Iana’s every invitation to talk—in English, anyway.

“Sunny, please, not this again!” Iana shouted exasperatedly. The bellflower color had not made a comeback, her bloodshot eyes and disheveled hair blacker than ever.

Nibbling on a muffin, I petted the bunny—Bluerose, named by Sunny for her love of the flower—taking much-needed comfort and meaning to give the same. Bluerose pressed her face into my palm, no more eager to be part of the discussion than I was.

Sunny, having had enough, abandoned her half-eaten oatmeal for the living room. 

Iana gazed after her. “She used to be like this, not speaking. Our first year at Ilvermorny, everyone thought she didn’t know how. She shuts down when she doesn’t want to communicate. A kind of selective mutism. I’d normally come to you, but now…” Her faraway stare turned dark. “Only Parseltongue was acceptable where Sunny lived—if you could call it living. She’d joke that her fondest experience was being thrown into a basement with a Runespoor…before two of the heads ripped off the third.”

I was forced to put my muffin down, sickened.

“I didn’t know then, of course,” said Iana miserably. “And while I set her back by losing my temper, you gradually won her over. Once she felt safe, she grew confident. I never thought she’d regress.”

“Yesterday,” I said, “could something have happened to her? To push her into this state?”

Iana shook her head. “She’s upset about what’s happened to _you_. What’s been…lost.”

She wasn’t alone.

I placed a sleepy Bluerose on the windowsill. “Do we have more pets?” I asked absently.

“Those loud bangs last night? Our neighbor is either working on a new invention or reworking an old one. Our house is right across theirs, so a lot of their many, many pets—from cute to ugly-cute to hideous—end up on our doorstep when they inevitably flee. It’ll be why the latest addition to our pet family—” Iana gave Bluerose’s fuzzy head a pat. “—was hiding under our mat last week. We find most of them new homes, but we’ve gotten attached to a few. Deus is the only one we got from the woods and Vil you got for Ilvermorny. We had a puffskein that we bought from town—Harold—but we got tired of needing clothespins for our noses to avoid its tongue. As for the cat…”

Her voice was almost drowned out by squealing and giggling marshmallows that squirmed in a bowl—a bowl that was being eyed by Harriet.

“Quit taunting the cat, or I’ll turn you into cotton balls,” threatened Iana. “And you’ll never feel the delight of being toasted. The cat might growl like one, but she’s no dragon—no fire breath.”

I stood, reaching for a plate of fruits—I’d require a peace offering. “I’m going to try to talk to Sunny.”

“You had house elves, growing up.”

My hand fell back to my side.

“So it could be presumed that you had a comfortable childhood,” continued Iana tonelessly, her fists clenching on the table. “Yet, caught in the middle of a duel between two of your family, you were hit by a curse. Innocent, but unlucky. One fixed what the other had done, and the incident was buried. I gathered this from what you screamed during your nightmares after witnessing a girl get splinched. You were the first in our class to master Apparition, because it terrified you.”

“What else?” I whispered urgently. She couldn’t stop there.

“I think, your father…there was something very bad there. One day you were out shopping and saw a man who looked similar to him. You disappeared for a month, San. Reappeared with no idea where you’d been. It nearly took you another month to stop shaking. I think…I think you were running. Running away. And you hadn’t stopped—not to rest, not to eat. You showed up at our door, said, ‘There were bellflowers,’ and fainted. Spotting some had jolted you into Apparating home, because you associated them with me.

“In school and after we graduated, I paid close attention to what you’d say—sometimes you’d let facts slip that I was able to put together. But I don’t have any answers. I understood there were things you never wanted us to know. I accepted it when you said you needed to protect us. Maybe I shouldn’t have. But I’ll make you this promise, San: if we stick together, we can survive anything.”

Halting in the doorway, I asked, “What happened? With the Runespoor?”

“Sunny wasn’t let out until it died.”

I wished I hadn’t asked.

Seated in the throne-like chair, Sunny had flattened a wrinkled but clean white cloth on the desk. A handkerchief?

I placed the fruit on the desk.

“Sunny? Are you okay?”

She tilted her head to send me a singing glare that asked how she could possibly be okay—and her wand attacked the air. The wand was elaborately carved, graceful and a worthy match for her. A regal snake head made up the handle, and I realized the entire wand was in the form of a snake.

My name formed in burning letters. Then Sunny slashed the air and a flaming line crossed it out before line and name faded. 

It was true. I wasn’t Sanwyn anymore. Not really.

Sunny gazed down at the handkerchief as a tear splattered onto it. Inky letters appeared where the tear had made contact, and I could only gape.

> _Heart of memories-that-were_
> 
> _But are no more_
> 
> _Dust-filled but unbroken_
> 
> _May she find again what is hers_
> 
> _And return herself to us_

Sunny pulled quill and parchment to her, writing, _“I cry easily, but I can’t always express my emotions, and that frustrates not just me but everyone around me. You gave me this. Made it for me. In case I ever lost my way or my voice again.”_

“The words…are about me?” I asked, still gaping.

Sunny nodded.

We said no more.

Iana, processing her own distress, kept Deus close—I glimpsed him throughout the day on her shoulder, on her finger, cupped in her hands, being petted (and complaining if the petting stopped).

Vil was given his fair share of affection, but wasn’t confined as much as Deus, often out flying.

Sunny read book after book with the cat on her head, Harriet’s face dipping as if to read along.

My own lap was taken by Bluerose, who could easily be imagined stamping it with her puff of a tail: _Mine._

“We have a second room—I do my potion work there,” Iana said, her arms full of items retrieved from the bedroom and a hall closet. “I’ll set up a cot for you. No more sleeping on the sofa.”

I thanked Iana for being such a good friend, but she actually shuddered. “How horrible…I need to take a shower so I can wash that word off.” (I was unlikely to utter the word “friend” in her presence again, for fear that she would vomit on me, just as she had threatened.)

Iana also informed me that she and Sunny would both be taking a leave of absence from their jobs. I felt guilty for being relieved when my protests were shot down. 

As I tasked myself with vanishing a shocking amount of animal droppings, I felt a renewed rush of appreciation for magic. I did not envy No-Maj pet owners, who were unable to resort to magical means. 

Occasionally, Iana, Sunny, myself, and the pets bumped into a chime (or they bumped into us), generating brief, sweet songs, until I was able to distinguish who they each belonged to. 

It was on the third day that I heard a new song from the chimes, with a longer echo. Sunny and I converged in the living room—she from the bedroom and I from the bathroom—to find Iana pacifying a thin blonde woman who was swinging something through the air.

Iana gently untangled a piece of parchment from our shouting guest’s fist.

“Can you believe this? This is what my son spends his time doing! No wonder he was expelled from school!”

Over Iana’s shoulder, I saw that it was a simple outline of a female continuously toppled by her oversized breasts. Standing, falling, standing, falling.

That was certainly something one might see at Ilvermorny, or any school enrolling adolescents—and the otherwise “young”.

“It could be worse,” said Iana dryly. “He could be a better artist.”

Lifted into the air, the parchment was promptly vaporized. The witch pocketed her wand.

“I have to say, Kesper…the spelling errors in that apology letter you forced him to send us were atrocious,” said Iana.

“That boy can never get away with using a regular quill,” sighed Kesper. “He doesn’t claim to be smart, merely innocent.”

“San did get him a spell-correcting quill last year…” Iana said, surprising me.

Kesper shook her head. “Snapped it in one of his fits before it ever saw ink—even mended, it wasn’t the same. And I had him write that apology letter at wand point, so he was, I admit…a bit twitchy, at the time.”

“Good for you,” chuckled Iana. “And good for him, too.” Iana handed Kesper a quill in clear, crackly packaging. “Here—Truthquill. Anti-Lying. These burn away written lies. From now on, he can write out his innocence until it stays on the page.”

I retreated to the bathroom before I could be noticed by the visitor, not ready to meet a stranger who wasn’t a stranger, not ready for questions that would require lies. Iana had suggested that if anyone asked, it would be best if I feigned memory loss from a head injury, and I had agreed. But I was in no mood for a performance. 

A letter arrived in a great horned owl’s beak at lunch. 

“Afternoon, Sakura,” said Iana, checking the envelope as Sunny fetched the tired owl a treat. “It’s from Gen—Gen Kubo. She was a couple years ahead of us in Ilvermorny and you’re still good friends. She’s a reporter at _The Honest Quill_ now. Her daughter was born two months ago. She’s probably going to demand a visit…”

Iana was correct—it was short and to the point:

> _Sanwyn “Please Don’t Call Me Salmon” Arcana! My sweet daughter misses you._
> 
> _Come rain affection and blessings on your godchild—or else!_
> 
>   
>  _Gen_

**Author's Note:**

> This is an indefinitely unfinished story that I didn’t want to leave sitting around. My plan was to take from the books (look for the adverbs and love them, loooove themmmm), from the films, and from myself to introduce the new as well as the familiar. It needed at least two or three more passes to be fully edited, so there will be errors (apologies)! 
> 
> Here’s a scene that would’ve followed—of San and Iana talking about San’s missing Patronus: 
> 
> “What have you been thinking of?” 
> 
> “Snowy roofs, snowy owls, snowy hats…” I said. 
> 
> Iana stared. 
> 
> “I…couldn’t think of one other thing…”


End file.
